Yes; I write verses now and then,
But blunt and flaccid is my pen,
No longer talkt of by young men
As rather clever: In the last quarter are my eyes,
You see it by their form and size;
Is it not time then to be wise?
Or now or never. Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!
While Time allows the short reprieve,
Just look at me! Would you believe
’ Twas once a lover? I cannot clear the five-bar gate,
But, trying first its timber’ s state,
Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait
To trundle over. Thro’ gallopade I cannot swing
The entangling blooms of Beauty’ s spring:
I cannot say the tender thing,
Be ’ t true or false, And am beginning to opine
Those girls are only half-divine
Whose waists yon wicked boys entwine
In giddy waltz. I fear that arm above that shoulder,
I wish them wiser, graver, older,
Sedater, and no harm if colder
And panting less. Ah! People were not half so wild
In former days, when, starchly mild,
Upon her high-heel’ d Essex smiled
The brave Queen Bess.